Won't
by TheRottenJas
Summary: Kreacher didn't want to serve another master.


**A/N:** This was so tough to write, as I didn't have any inspiration. Hopefully, you've enjoyed it a bit. :)

 **Quidditch League Fanfiction Competiton**

 **Team:** Appleby Arrows - Chaser 2

 **Round 4:** Creature Comforts

 **Optional Prompts:** 8\. (dialogue) "Why am I crying? I'm so sick of crying."; 13. (dialogue) "I'll survive. I always do."; 14. (word) frigid

 **Chosen Creature:** House-Elf

 **Word count:** 961

 **Disclaimer:** Nope. Never Have, Never Will.

* * *

 _Won't_

* * *

Kreacher loathed Harry Potter.

Harry Potter, the Half-blood scum who owned him, was no better than Sirius Black. Sirius treated him horribly, and he expected no more from this other blood traitor. But Harry Potter treated him with forced politeness. He'd rather someone treat him bad, then pretend to care.

" _Won't, won't, won't, WON'T!"_

That's what he shouted as Professor Dumbledore commanded Harry to give him an order. He didn't want to serve the boy. He didn't want to be tied down to someone who so openly opposed all of his old master's belief.

" _Kreacher, shut up!"_

And his mouth snapped shut.

He hated the bond that forced Kreacher and Harry to be servant and master. He abhorred the idea of serving another blood traitor. Someone who wasn't Regulus or Walburga. He wanted to speak, but a force kept his lips from opening, so he resorted to mumbling his words.

He didn't want to serve Harry Potter.

* * *

"Mistress Black, what service do you need?" Kreacher asked, bowing his head down, as he waited for the eight year old, Walburga Black, to speak. She smiled, beaming at the words _Mistress Black_.

"Well, your _Mistress_ wants you to clean this mess up," she announced haughtily, referring to the state her room was. Her mother's dress was discarded by her feet, along with a few other article of clothing strewn about the room. She held a long stick in her right hand, and her face was caked with her mother's make-up. Walburga had bright red lips. "Now, before mother wakes from her nap!"

Kreacher nodded, quickly snapping his fingers to transport the clothes and make-up back where they belonged. He eyes the stain of red on the carpet and set to work with Walburga hollering at him to do it right.

"It looks good," she declared, after Kreacher had finished. Her red lips were set in a wide smile. "You may go and attend your other duties, Kreacher."

"Mistress, you still have the make-up on your face," he began, offering Walburga some damp cloths. Her red lips set into a pout. "Your mother will notice that you've been toying with her items if you keep it on."

Walburga laughed, shaking her head. "No, no. I like this on my face. I'll deal with the consequences. Leave."

Kreacher hesitated, knowing her mother's temper, but left all the same. Kreacher had to obey his master's order.

It was no surprise later that day when Walburga curled up in her room, tears staining her cheeks. All he could do was watch silently.

* * *

Kreacher loved serving Walburga Black.

He had watched over her since she was little girl. He could read the woman's expressions and actions in an instant. Kreacher understood Mistress Black more than anybody. He knew she wasn't evil or good. She believed in doing what she was taught. The way her mother instructed her.

She was loyal to a dead woman, just as Kreacher was loyal to her. There was no greater privilege than serving her.

"I'll survive. I always do." Walburga held her wand straight at the tapestry. There was no tremble in her hand. With a quick spell, she blasted her firstborn off the family tapestry. "Goodbye, Sirius."

Kreacher knew his mistress wasn't cold hearted, she thought she was doing the right decision.

"Mistress Black, shall I fix the mess?" he asked, bowing his head. The fight between Sirius and Walburga hadn't gone down easy.

Walburga nodded, walking straight to her room. Kreacher quickly set off to clean. He knew what Mistress Black was doing right now. It's what she always did when she was feeling sad.

She was in her room crying.

Walburga Black didn't have a heart of stone; Kreacher knew this. She loved her children to the point of where she wanted the best for them. And the best meant following her traditions and beliefs.

Kreacher apparated just outside her room, contemplating his actions. He knocked and waited a few beats before entering. Sure enough, Walburga was hastily wiping her tears away.

"Here," he held out pieces of napkins toward her, "for Mistress Black."

She grimaced, snatching the paper. "Why am I crying? I'm so sick of crying. I'll never cry again!"

Kreacher smiled sadly, he had been hearing those same words for some thirty odd years.

* * *

Kreacher was the only one left who held any respect for Walburga Black.

He would continue to be loyal to Mistress Black until the very end. Despite the fact that he was forced to serve Harry Potter now, it wouldn't stop him from showering compliment after compliment at Walburga's portrait. If he refused to serve Sirius Black, a true Black, why on earth would he serve Harry?

" _Oh, my poor mistress, what would she say if she saw Kreacher serving him?"_

Kreacher shuddered, unable to imagine serving anyone else with unwavering loyalty. The Black family treated him good, despite what Harry's mudblood said. They didn't torture him, and he listened and obeyed. Unlike filthy Sirius who mocked him, Walburga and Regulus treated him normally.

Kreacher had built his resolve. It would take something big to make him serve Harry Potter. He knew where his loyalties lay, and he intended on following them through.

" _Give him an order. If he passed into your ownership, he will have to obey. If not, then we shall have think of some other means of keeping him from his rightful mistress,"_

He loathed Albus Dumbledore, the foolish Professor, with all his might. His body tensed and he could feel the magic surge through him as Harry said his order.

He didn't want to serve anyone else.

" _Won't, won't, won't, WON'T!"_

Kreacher wondered if Harry could feel his frigid glare burn through his skin, as Kreacher's mouth snapped shut.


End file.
